


Kinktober Title WIP

by Lucky



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Original Work, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-14 23:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky/pseuds/Lucky
Summary: it's my first kinktober! let's see what i can do.





	1. day 001 / spanking

**Author's Note:**

> it's my first kinktober! let's see what i can do.

Everyone knew to steer clear of the break room on the fourth basement level of the Ecruteak base. The vending machines were broken, the largest couch had curious stains on its cushions that were either liquor or some kind of bodily fluid, the fluorescent lights flickered and bloomed in a rhythm that could drive anyone mad. The air was always thick with smoke, and someone undesirable was said to linger in the shadows there, and those final two points were far from uncorrelated.

Shouta Akemi had a bad habit of smoking indoors, and a worse habit of being so unassuming that people could walk right by him and not even notice. He was lithe and slender, with shadowed eyes that peered out from beneath badly trimmed straight-across bangs. His uniforms were always clean and pressed, and his hands were soft, and from the second that Naoki saw him, he was smitten.

Naoki never could’ve anticipated that he’d find himself with Shouta’s cock hilted in his ass. Not that it was unusual for him to get what he wanted, of course, but Shouta always struck him as a prude who’d sooner break his cool composure than strip from the bottom-down in the fourth level break room.

That was another reason people stayed away from that particular break room – it always smelled like something pungent, like sweat and sex and cum.

“Fuck,” Naoki groaned against the arm of the sofa, reaching back to snag Shouta’s wrist and drag it towards his hair. A wordless plea, but Shouta was obedient – nothing if not obedient, in fact – and yanked hard enough that Naoki saw stars. A clipped noise of approval squeezed from his lungs, and he dared crack open an eye, staring up at the upside-down face of his angel of death. Shouta gazed back, dark eyes peering through the miasma that poured from his lips. His hair clung to his face and his nostrils flared with each breath.

“Mooove,” Naoki whined, shimmying his ass against Shouta’s bony hips. “Come on, fuck me, fuck meee—_nnh!_”

No matter how many times they wound up in this same arrangement, the force with which Shouta could cock his hips backwards and ram back forwards always surprised him, making his toes curl and his lungs lurch. “That’s it,” he wheezed, eyes rolling further into the back of his head. Every time, Naoki thought for sure that it’d be hard enough to bruise – but every time, he’d find some excuse to ghost his fingertips across his ass and be disappointed at the lack of tenderness. Every time, he wondered if he’d perhaps imagined it – poor, prudish, unassuming Shouta Akemi obediently dropping his trousers in the fourth level break room certainly sounded like a high schooler’s depraved fantasy. So he’d always want to check, just to make sure – and that was how he kept finding himself in these situation.

Not that he was complaining, of course. Shouta was adorable and if he listened close, Naoki could hear the muted, rasping breaths that sounded more like puff of air than anything else. Those endearing little noises drove him wild, and someday, he swore, he was going to make Shouta scream.

For now, though, he braced himself against the arm of the couch and arched his back, drinking in Shouta’s cute disinterested face like it were his liquor of choice. Shouta’s other hand was braced against his shoulder, and Naoki marveled each and every time at how soft his hands were. He thought about how many lives he’d taken with those soft, delicate hands, and he felt his cock jump.

But it was such a waste for those dainty, dangerous hands to be at rest, and so he rasped out: “make me yours.” They weren’t words that he’d poured a significant amount of thought into; it was hard to think at all with Shouta plowing into him the way that he did. But his thoughts coalesced and solidified, and with a bit more of an agenda, he appended: “mark me…!”

And Shouta, nothing if not obedient, _did_. He hesitated for a moment, perhaps wondering the best way to go about this (he always did better with direct orders, after all) but soon his palm lifted and those soft fingertips trailed down, down, tracing the curvature at the small of his back and resting his fingers against his ass. And with all the same suddenness as he’d thrust his hips, he reared back his hand and slammed it against his rear.

The sound of skin hitting skin was almost enough to drown out Naoki’s clipped sound of pleasure – _almost_, but Naoki was shameless and knew that they’d be safe in this room, anyway. He’d heard what people said about the fourth level break room, and he’d reveled in it. He liked feeling like part of a ghost story.

He liked Shouta better, though, especially with his cock ramming into him, and _especially _with his hand splayed out across his ass like this. “Again,” Naoki wheezed, his Adam’s apple straining against his stretched throat. And Shouta, unassuming, stoic, obedient, Shouta, obliged. Again, and again, and again. Naoki didn’t tell him to stop, and so he didn’t. Not until they’d both cum and further stained the poor soiled sofa. Not until Naoki shuddered and wheezed and laughed, crawling forward and kicking Shouta off the couch so that he could get a little bit of shut-eye before getting back to work. Nobody ever dared come near it, after all. There was no better place to do something scandalous, like fuck your cute coworker, or take a nap.


	2. day 002 / dirty talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a tired grad student and i s2g i'm going to write proper notes one of these days

“You are nothing but a liability to Lady Edelgard’s cause,” Hubert rasped into their ear, fingers slithering beneath the hem of their sleep-shorts. “Perhaps I should dispose of you here and now.”

And Byleth moaned, stifled by Hubert’s opposite palm. “Quiet!” he hissed, patience audibly being tested. “Can you not even follow a simple demand? Everyone thinks so highly of you, too… would they still, I wonder, if they saw you the way you are now?”

Byleth didn’t mean to think of their student’s faces if they’d happen to walk in right now: Ferdinand’s flushed cheeks, Dorothea’s knowing (jealous?) smirk, Bernadetta’s shriek and the apologies that would follow. Yet in the moment that followed they flashed in their mind’s eye, one after the other after the other, and though they hardly knew how it made them feel, their hips bucked and a breathy moan bubbled against Hubert’s palm.

The room was dark; had they been in any state to contemplate such things, they’d have been grateful. Their top was messily hiked up to their collarbone, their skin was flushed, their hair clung to their face which was damp with sweat. All the same, though, they swore that Hubert could see right through the darkness – right through them too, in fact. Through their clothes and their skin and their muscles and bones, right to their very core.

“You’d like that,” he spoke, his words hardly audible, his lips ghosting along the skin at Byleth’s jaw, “wouldn’t you?”

His fingertips wormed beneath the hem of their underwear, touching down against flesh that made their thighs squeeze shut, made them gasp for air, made them nearly choke as his palm denied them of a simple breath. He chuckled, hot breath washing across Byleth’s face and causing the hairs on their arm to stand on-end.

“Our immaculate professor,” he murmured, working his fingers deftly between their legs, “getting off on the thought of indecently exposing themselves to their students… how revolting.”

He tweaked his fingers in such a way that Byleth squealed, desperate and mewling, into the flat of his palm.

“You’re revolting, professor.”

They’d never considered their bed a small one, though it certainly felt like it with Hubert in bed with them, slithered up along their side. He too was in his sleepwear, though it did little to curb his overwhelmingly imposing presence. The hand that he’d had over their mouth slipped down to grab them instead by the neck, squeezing the air from their windpipes. Byleth could feel their body writhing like a moth before a flame, like a flower shriveling up and dying at Mach speed.

“A common whore,” he murmured. “A veritable golden calf… a _pity_.”

He squeezed, and Byleth felt a pang of something that was almost fear course through them. They could die here, they thought – they’d never thought Hubert to genuinely be dangerous, but now, they weren’t quite as certain. A rush of adrenaline shot through their veins, and then there was a voice that sounded so, so different from Hubert’s.

_‘Wh-what are you doing?!’_ Sothis demanded, her words strained and tight. Byleth swore they could feel a heat in their cheeks that wasn’t their own. _‘Do you want to die?! Get out of there!’_

No, Byleth thought – they didn’t want to die. And a Divine Pulse thrummed in their fingertips – it really would’ve been so easy to undo this entire situation. Jump back, back to twenty minutes prior, when they’d touched themselves and been too loud which had brought Hubert to their door at this hour in the first place.

But there was something else, too – something snowballing in their gut that begged for release, which just might make dying worth it.


End file.
